It started with a small pile of poop.

Mr. RK said that would be a good post title, but really, that is how the day started - at least right before I walked out of the door.

Before that, I woke up after having scary dreams about my boss naked. Wait, that was redundant.

Anyhow, Vasil, who is normally a good litter-box trained, if otherwise naughty, kitty, graced the downstairs bathroom with his displeasure (you talk about bad aim - he was an entire floor off target), and the day just went on from there. My friend Mike D and I were texting, and luckily he said, "Feel free to vent with your thumbs!" My thumb in someone's eye would have been more satisfying.

Although I had volunteers covering the phones all day, the one hour where a volunteer was busy with an appointment was the hour I had four (COUNT THEM FOUR) calls from people wanting resources. Which is normally no big deal, except...

Caller #1: Starts the  call with, "I have a question for you..." (Note to self: next time, say, "Oh no, you fucking don't!")

And he can't explain what he wants and goes on and on and on. Until I politely ask, "And what is the question?"

Him: "Well! Okaaaaay..." And goes on. And on. And keeps changing the request and after I counter with resources for every request, says, "Well you've been pretty helpful. Now I have one more question. When is the next training for your organization's Tell Your Life Story program?"

His words, not mine. Note: we don't have a program of that type. Now you know why.

Another caller just moved here, is living in a motel, has no insurance, and says, "I want to meet with a social worker." Um, right. I politely explain that here in my state, at least, you need to get signed up for Medicaid or have some kind of insurance before you can become a client at an agency. In fact, we can sign him up for this.

"I'd rather talk to a social worker first and see what my options are."

Needless to say, the organizations I gave him phone numbers for will say, "Call them back and sign up for insurance first..."

And as it is event week (next Tuesday about midnight I should be a much happier camper, or if not happier, the damn thing will be over), I of course have to have raging PMS.

Lastly, I ask you. If someone tells you politely two or three times that they MUST HAVE THE FUCKING HEADCOUNT FOR THE HOTEL by a certain date, wouldn't you get back to that person?

Thank you, Grumpy Cat. You have expressed me ever so much better than I could have expressed myself.